


Ice Breaker

by Windlion



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Black Jack - Freeform, Kozmotis Frost, M/M, Prompt Fic, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windlion/pseuds/Windlion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lord of nightmares: wicked laughter rolling out of the dark, sly mischief that is not always on the right side of cruel, and far too many ages of bitterness contained in the shadow of a boy who is anything but young.</p>
<p>The winter king: a wit of broken cutting edges, the brittle remains of something that might have been honor or might have been love lost, the man carved of ice forever looking for a fire to warm his hands.  </p>
<p>They meet in Antarctica, and an offer is made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Breaker

**Author's Note:**

> For BlackIce Week on Tumblr, with the prompt "Role Reversal." I felt like the lair scene had already been done to perfection, so that left me . . . Antarctica. 
> 
> (Let us play the game of How Many Ice References Can We Make? And How Many Feels Can We Have In Two Pages? I am so sorry for my sense of humor in titles.)

Before this brush with the Guardians, Kozmotis hadn't had much direct contact with the darker side of dreams. Fear, fear he knows as the dark shadows of bare branches painted in blue and grey across his snow. A brittle thing. As pervasive as a gust of cold wind down your neck like the breath of jotuns at your heel. Fear was something to make children scoot that much closer to the fire, to make parents tuck scarves tighter around rosy cheeks.

Not this laughing slip of a boy, too-sharp teeth bared in a knowing, predatory smile as he wraps pale, thin fingers around his black crooked staff. He twists his hands like he's strangling it, choking the words off in Kozmotis's throat before they can even pass his lips.

"Gave you the cold shoulder, didn't they?"

The incriminating golden cylinder almost falls from his lax fingers before he grips it even tighter, tucking it away inside his long coat. He can't bear to look at it. It's not _his_ , after all. There's no reason that he should trust this devil-child's whisper that it's the answer to his questions. A little girl's memories. . .

He doesn't even know if he can give them back, once he's stolen them.

Stolen by proxy is already enough to damn him in the Guardians' eyes.

The real thief strides up to him bold as brass, an ink stain across the pure white of snow. Kozmotis can't help staring, gut twisting in something that can't decide if it's fury or fear or heartbreak. It's unfair that the enemy is . . . this. He might as well be spun of Kozmotis's ice, white pale and delicate, with heavy-shadowed eyes and black, tousled hair. Only his eyes have color: golden staining the center of gas-light blue.

They call him the Black Jack. No one knows if that's his name, or just a corruption of his title, the Dark Prince. The laughing lord of nightmares.

And he's already at Kozmotis's elbow, nearly brushing the fur-lined coat. The worst part is that he looks sincere, "I told you they wouldn't understand. There's nothing _they_ can do about your memories. You're not a kid. They don't care about you."

"Like you do?" Kozmotis can't bring the words back once he's said them, suspicion and bitter anger that sharpens even Antarctica's chill.

Of all things, Jack laughs, holding on to his staff like it's the only thing keeping him from falling over in mirth. The echoes of laughter off the ice send a thrill down his spine. "Kozmo-ice, you have no idea. I've _been_ there."

Jack straightens up finally and flashes him a smile that's nothing more than a thin veil over deep, dark pain. "Oh, the Guardians talk a good game, but when you're not their jurisdiction? When you're not their perfect, innocent child? They don't care. No one cares about the ones like us.

"So what, I'm dark? So what, kids are afraid of me? That's _what I'm supposed to do_ ," Jack spits the words with surprising vehemence, drawing himself up and stalking along the edge of the ice cliff, as if he's the one who can fly, not Kozmotis. Fearless, he thinks, except. . . there's a vulnerability to the Dark Prince. Wounded. "I thought. . . I never thought anyone else was like me. Hated because of what I am."

Kozmotis narrows his silver eyes at Jack, "And what am I?"

Jack laughs again, this time more of a low chuckle that rolls through his bones. The boy spins on his heel, reaching out a spindle-thin arm to tap against Kozmotis's own chest. "You're winter. You're not supposed to be warm and soft. But you don't have to be alone."

It's like a fault line crack driven straight through the heart of a glacier.

Kozmotis hasn't forgotten the boy's words, in that labyrinth of spiraling stairs and wrought-iron cages. _"Poor, poor Koz of the ice. Always looking for someone to take under his wing. Don't you know all the nests are empty in winter?"_

Kozmotis is rooted in place, "What. . . what do you mean?"  
"I'm the Black Jack, Koz." There's something utterly unnerving in the way Jack walks straight to him, feet sure even on the ice. Self-possessed. Unflinching from the cold, even as he reaches out to straighten Kozmotis's fur collar. "You, you're the White King without a kingdom."

Jack's fingers feel like a brand on his skin, white fingers tracing the blued shadows of Kozmotis's cheekbones. "We can make one. Together."

Words in the dark echo in his mind.

_"You still long for the heat of hearth and home, but deep down, you wonder. . . did you ever really have one? How could you, when your heart is carved of ice?"_

The warmth hits him like spring thaw. Kozmotis breaks free of his own frozen stupor, raising a hand to rest on one narrow shoulder. In that instant Jack looks . . .

Kozmotis's breath catches sharply, and he doesn't need to think about the words, "You were wrong."

He shoves away, hard, already preparing to draw down the storm. He knows he's imagining the feeling of calving icebergs in his heart; what beats there is all too human instead.

This wasn't how he wanted to find out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who doesn't follow my tumblr: I am not dead! XD The next chapter of Shadowplay is in progress, probably 3/4 of the way done, and is . . . going to be Looong. Rondo will be updated soon!


End file.
